Dressing Horror
by Lucky Black Moon
Summary: He really could not understand why, why he was so hated by the one Above. Really, what had he done to deserve to be stuck in such an abomination? He rather liked the suicide option, unfortunately. It was simply too much for him.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: Insanity, Somnophilic fans, Forced cross-dressing, Humiliation

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><p>Happy laughter echoed in the Gryffindor tower, more specifically in the dormitories of the fourth year boys. It was a Saturday night; no classes the next day, so they were free to do as they wished as long as it was not disturbing the others in the tower or till they got caught by some stuck up prefects.<p>

"No, really Nev'? You did _that_?" Seamus asked, tears of mirth running down his face.

The aforementioned boy, Neville Longbottom blushed and added sheepishly, "Yeah, I did. I thought Gran would explode in anger. And Uncle Algie… Oh, Uncle Algie, he was laughing so hard he had fallen over and splashed his beer all around him."

Still huffing in amusement, Dean turned to Harry and questioned, "What was yours?"

The smaller raven haired boy blushed a little before replying, "My most embarrassing memory? It was… Uh…"

"Aw, come on Harry! It can't be that bad,"

"Okay, okay. So, once, I had been forced to…" he trailed off, his blush spreading to the tip of his ears and creeping down his neck, "Hm… Wear a dress."

The rest, he would rather not say what happened. But of course, he would be forced to tell the others, who were staring at him fairly expectantly.

Ron protested loudly and the other boys made shushing noises to make him shut up. He continued anyway, though quieter, "Hey Harry! That can't be all! There's no detail, mate. We want the juicy parts, with the crispy crumbles."

The smaller one hung his head in shame as he started mumbling, "My Aunt had not… washed my clothes the previous day and I had none left which were more or less presentable. Obviously, I could not go to school naked or holding a box to cover my bits, so she went to see if she could get something to over me up."

Neville chuckled, "You had to go to school in a dress?"

"Yes," Harry whined. He buried his burning face in his hands and brought his legs against his chest. "It was so humiliating! Aunt Petunia came back with a yellow, frilly abomination. And of course it was something the girls in the eighteenth century could wear. Why couldn't she have me wear the dresses girls are wearing now, without laces or frills? Just plain fabric. Why?"

And God, Dudley laughed so hard at him he pissed his pants.

Besides him, all his friends laughed harder. They could understand him however. By wearing that type of dress, or any dress, really, it would completely destroy a man's (boy's in this case) pride. And self-esteem. Don't forget self-esteem.

Minutes later, when Neville finally coaxed Harry out of his defensive position, and Dean had told them his shameful secret, Harry started yawning and his eyes were drooping. He decided to call it a night and crawled under his sheets with a quick Silencio around his bed to avoid the boys disturbing his rest.

What he didn't know was that outside the safety of his bed, a group of persons were plotting a plan involving him and some instruments. And it was not the Dark side.

"You guys have the same idea?

"Of course!" the others answered in unison.

"Then start preparing right away. We only have the night after all."

Everything was said with creepily large smiles and glinting eyes, tinted with sadistic glee.

* * *

><p>Harry slowly resurfaced from the world of peaceful slumber. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He sure did sleep well. No Voldemort, no nightmare, only blissful sleep.<p>

He passed a hand in his unruly hair, messing it up even more and sat up, enjoying a moment of calm and quiet before the boys woke up. Somewhat, he was slightly thankful that Aunt Petunia forced him to wake up at dawn during holidays to do his chores. But bitterness won over gratefulness.

He got up, leaving behind his warm bed which seemed to beckon him back and regretfully made his way to the common bathroom for his morning routine, his clothes he had fished from his wardrobe at random in his arms. It was nice, his fine black dress leaving him ample space to move and left his legs free… Rewind – common bathroom. Fast forward a bit… Wait. Here! Stop!

His fine black dress…

What the hell! A dress, on him? How could that happen?

Harry turned on his heels and looked around the room. There was no fangirl in sight and surely, his roommates would not dare force _that _onto him during his sleep. They were bloody Gryffindors, who else could be more united than them. Then, who could it be?

It was traumatising him; wearing a dress after that incident with Aunt Petunia. He thanked Merlin however since it was a Sunday. Harry rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door close. Without being aware of it, his magic had locked the door as soon as it was closed.

Frantically, he tried to remove the horrible, horrible garment from his person, but it was as if it was stuck to his body. No matter how much he tugged, stretched and pulled, it would not let go. And worse of all, it never ripped. He was trapped.

Suicide or foetal position to cry himself to sleep again? He asked himself. Really, it was hard to decide but he chose the third option. He looked at himself in the mirror.

His torturer had at least good taste. It was a simple sleeveless cotton dress with a round collar. It was modest, not revealing too much and it hugged his form (and while he did not really have a shapely figure, he was leanly muscled and had a feline like silhouette) nicely, but it was not skin tight. It ended around mid-thighs and maybe a bit higher (but in his mind, he would try to deny it). Not a fancy dress with so much lace you could drown in like the ones Aunt Petunia liked to wear for cocktail parties Uncle Vernon brought her to.

He shivered at the thought of wearing a dress like that. It would be social and psychological murder. He was seriously considering the suicide option.

Harry slid to the ground in a morose lump, hugging his knees close to his chest. He then noticed something that no other boys should ever experience. Someone had changed his underwear. His usual overly large, barely-clinging- on-the-hips boxers had been removed to be replaced by another horror.

It felt like silk on his sensitive skin and he felt comfortable in it. It was not supposed to be like that! Harry was a boy, and hell, he felt violated. He was so going to murder the one who did that. He had been dressed up when he was sleeping (surely a somnophilic fan but, by some miracle, he was still virgin).

Reluctantly, the raven haired boy dragged himself to his unsteady feet to stare blankly at the mirror facing him. Should he do it? Not the wisest decision but he did it anyway. He was supposed to be a Gryffindor, the epitome of bravery and solidarity. Not a wimpy, traumatised kid who hid in a bathroom to avoid humiliation.

He lifted the dress and looked.

A scream of horror and shock left his throat. But his eyes were glued to the mirror. Yes, he was the wimpy, traumatised kid who hid in the bathroom and he was suddenly damn proud of it.

He was… shocked to say the least. No, actually, he was more than shocked. Harry was not sure to be able to describe the whirlwind of emotions building within him. So many sentiments, but the one mostly present was probably confusion.

Why did it have to be silk panties?

His green eyes snapped up and he dropped the piece of fabric he held in his hands. It fluttered down slowly, almost as if it was taunting him, but inanimate objects could not taunt persons, right?

"Yeah, right," his reflection answered.

Harry took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose while at it. He lowered back his hand and screamed. He expressed by shouting his frustration, fear, confusion, anger and everything else in between. He did it continuously till he felt that his lungs would collapse and his throat would leave him behind.

And unluckily, since he was Harry bloody Potter, he had completely forgotten about any Silencing Charms. In doing so (or not doing so), he woke up his roommates.

A flurry of activities happened behind the closed and locked door of the dorm. From what Harry's panicked mind could process, Ron rolled out of bed with a loud squawk, Neville shot up from his and went to join Ron, Seamus took his wand in surprise and made something explode, again, and Dean was the only one who could get up without any accidents.

Both fallen Gryffindors had apparently picked themselves from the ground and Seamus extinguished the crackling fire from his explosion for all of them to pound on the bathroom door. Inside the rather large room, the raven haired boy stood, panting.

"Harry, mate! Open up and let us in!" Ron shouted, concern tainting his shaky voice.

Harry squeaked and he rushed to tuck himself in what corner he found safer. He absolutely had no desire to be seen in that humiliating outfit, especially by his best friend and roommates.

"Harry!" shouted Neville. "If you don't open the door, we're going to blast it away."

The aforementioned boy shivered from his foetal position in the tub. _Please God, have pity on me_, he prayed, even when he knew that it would do no good to his situation. Whatever hope he could have, he would grab it and hold onto it as much as he could.

Apparently, his friends thought he was taking too much time to undo the spell which locked the door. A loud explosive boom echoed in the bathroom, temporarily figuratively burst his eardrums and the door flew back in a fury. It slammed open with such great force it bounced back to the entering teenagers who were all four forcing their way through the doorway, effectively taking its revenge on its assaulters. Inanimate objects in the Wizarding World could sure hold a grudge. And that poor, poor door had enough of having hormonal, easily angered teens smash it shut every time.

When a group of boys muttering a litany of curses due to pain followed an explosion caused by several Bombarda curses fired at the same time entered a bathroom where a small boy in a pretty dress was, it would definitely attract attention of prefects, but wonders of Hogwarts, it did not too much.

Only Hermione came bursting in the room, her wand raised, her hair puffed out like an angry cat and trying to locate the source of the racket. She froze upon entering the bathroom. The sight which greeted her baffled the prefect and angered her quite a bit.

First, the door had many, many burn marks and there was her dear innocent little Harry was in the tub, cowering, with the whole fourth year dorm mates looming over him with their wands pointed in his direction. Then, Harry his thick messy hair only visible with the upper half of his face peered at her with his large, doe like emerald eyes brimming with unshed tears which seemed to beg her to help the raven haired boy.

Harry was so happy to see his female best friend, but the happiness was mixed with a bit of apprehension, but not too much. Of course, she wouldn't dare make fun of him, would she? And Merlin, he wanted to pull a Sirius. Too bad no Hippogriff was available right then.

For several seconds, Hermione stared at them, trying to understand the situation. Thankfully, her genius mind kicked up not too late and many, many expletives left her usually innocent mouth, shocking everyone. The boys who were not already taking cover plastered themselves against the farthest wall from the infuriated witch, praying to Circe, Merlin and Krum that the bushy haired prefect would let them live without mental scars.

"Get out. Now!" she exclaimed while pointing at the frightened teenagers stuck to the wall. Immediately, and most gratefully but certainly not most gracefully, the boys scrambled out of the way and left poor Harry with Hermione.

From his position in the tub, Harry let out a small whimper-like noise. He absolutely did not want to be seen with that horrifying dress. Well, he sure didn't want to be seen at all today. But Hermione did not apparently notice his reluctance, probably mistaking his distressed cry to be a pained one.

She swiftly approached where he was curled up, quickening her pace when Harry let out a louder moan of despair. He shook his head, trying in a last attempt to make her leave, but the brunette ignored his protests and came to stand directly in front of the tub.

A small hitch in her breathing pattern prompted him to close his eyes. She had seen him! _I'm so doomed_, Harry thought while internally panicking yet again.

Harry was not prepared to endure what would happen next.

Hermione squealed.

Yes, she squealed loudly, her cry by some unknown means both showed admiration mixed with adoration and overflowing joy. The great know-it-all Granger squealed like some fangirl running after her favourite star while brandishing her underwear to sign.

It scared Harry, really, really much. He was so scared that he froze and Hermione was sly enough to jump on him while he was still unmoving.

A small squeak left his traitorous lips, encouraging the brown haired girl atop him to squeeze him tighter. All air left his lungs due to the surprisingly strong grip of Hermione. It did not look so, but that girl was bloody strong, while deceptively looking frail. That hug almost crushed him.

Hurriedly, Harry slapped Hermione's back to try to make her let go and he was successful. Hermione released him from her deadly, seemingly platonic embrace. The raven haired boy took in deep gulps of much needed air and discreetly rubbed his aching ribs. He hoped that none were bruised or broken, but from his experience, nothing was wrong with his bones.

Harry looked at his friend, scared out of his wits, and still trying to understand the precarious situation he was in.

What defeated him was what Hermione said next with such a big, dazzling smile.

"Next time, I'll dress you up myself, okay, Harry dear."

It was no question, only an order.

Harry fell in a dead faint.

* * *

><p>Maybe I'll continue, maybe not...<p> 


End file.
